


Connected

by lupinity87



Category: Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinity87/pseuds/lupinity87
Summary: Marty considers his connection to Jeff.





	Connected

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal and Dreamwidth a long time ago. I still feel as uncomfortable posting to AO3 now, as I did to those site then. I don't often post fic which is this... adult.

I suppose one might call it something like a psychic link, of sorts, but I've always known when I should find Jeff – usually when he's doing something dangerous or he's in an intense situation. You might put it down to my current state of being less than living, and perhaps you'd be right; perhaps there's something odd and other-worldly connecting us to each other. After all, my walking around after being most certainly dead-and-buried is rather odd, so why not throw some more strange happenings into the bargain? Personally, though, I'm not sure if it's all that.

Thinking back, we've always seemed to know when each other have gotten into a scrape, ever since we were kids. It's what comes from being best mates, isn't it? And goodness, we didn't half get into some scrapes as kids. I still remember the time Jeff got shut in a walk-in freezer at school - a freezer! I ask you, really. We were about twelve, and a load of the lads got sick – _food poisoning_ , they said; _skiving_ , the schoolmasters said. Jeff and I thought we'd get to the bottom of it, and snuck into the kitchens one night to have a look. I say ' _we_ ' snuck in – really, Jeff snuck in and I kept my head low out in the corridor, hoping to distract anyone who might've wanted to head in the kitchens for a late night snack. I was the brains, you see, and Jeff was the brawn, even back then – he'd get down to business while I'd keep a look-out and make a mental note of everything. I suppose it was good practice for the way we operate now, really.

Anyway, after twenty minutes of me standing outside and not a soul passing by, I started to get the distinct feeling that something wasn't right – after all, how long could it take to check out a few tins of food and a couple of baskets of vegetables? It wasn't just the time he'd spent in there though; something just felt _off_ , like he was worried and needed help. I had a peek down the corridors to check that no-one was around, and went in the kitchens – exciting stuff for any twelve-year-old schoolboy, I tell you. The hidden place beyond the dining hall, out-of-bounds to all but staff. Well, what a disappointment it was! A few tables for preparing food, a couple of sinks, and some cupboards – and the cupboards weren't even full. You'd expect to find chocolate and ice-cream and cakes, all hidden from the schoolchildren, wouldn't you? No such luck. 

More than that though, there was no sign of Jeff. I had a look round, and the windows were shut from the inside, so he hadn't climbed out that way (not that I could imagine why he might have done). Cupboards? Nope. Utility office? Nope. Staff toilet? Nope. It was then that I noticed the freezer door – a big, heavy, stainless steel brick of a door. I almost laughed when I realised what had happened... _almost_. I pulled the door open (and it took a fair bit of effort, let me tell you), and out of all the clouds of cold air that emerged, Jeff appeared, looking worse for wear and bluish around the lips. Well, once I'd realised that he was alright, I'll admit that I _did_ laugh – silly bugger getting himself stuck in a freezer, of all things – but the thought of what might've happened if I hadn't gone to look there and then did sober me. It was cold in there after all, and it wasn't a big freezer – there was only so much air in there.

In case you're wondering, we didn't even find anything suspicious after all that. As it turned out, the lads who were 'sick' had made up the whole thing to skive off lessons. It seems the schoolmasters were right, after all.

Anyway, it's happened a few times over the years, me knowing when to find him – especially when he's doing or feeling something intense, like I said. He admitted to me a while after the freezer incident that when he realised he couldn't get the door open again from inside, he panicked. Perhaps I felt that, who knows? As I said, maybe it's some strange paranormal thing, but I think it's probably just as much because we were always such close friends. You pick up little signals easier when you know someone well, don't you? Since I've been... well, less-than-alive, it's caused the odd awkward moment, though. It doesn't seem to be only negative emotions that I pick up on. Remember that girl he picked up in Monte Carlo? I had a feeling that something was up when she swept him off upstairs, so I popped into his room to check. Well, I was right – something _was_ 'up', if you get my drift. I don't think he saw me in the room (he was rather distracted, shall I say), so I disappeared again to keep an eye out elsewhere. Thank goodness no-one else could see the blush on my face.

It's not the only time it's happened, either – our Jeff's never been one to pick a girl and settle down. When I married Jeannie, he told me that he couldn't do it. He said it's like swimming, you see – he'd much prefer to stay at the side and test the waters, instead of committing to jumping right in. And goodness, I've caught him testing a fair few waters since I've been among the 'living impaired', not that he's ever caught me catching him, if you get what I mean. As long as there's a girl there, he's always too busy to notice me, thank goodness. It gives me a couple of seconds to disappear again – close friends we might be, but I don't need to hang around and watch _that_.

It makes it all the more difficult to explain the situation I've gotten myself into now, really.

Earlier this evening (a couple of hours ago, perhaps – I've lost all sense of time to tell you the truth) I came here, to Jeff's flat. I couldn't tell you why if I tried. I just had a feeling that I should be here, and whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, I had no idea. It was dark when I got here – that was the first thing I noticed. It was dark outside through the gap above the curtain, and it was dark inside the little studio flat. Only a small desk lamp gave any light at all, settling a soft amber glow throughout the room.

The second thing I noticed (once my eyes had adjusted to the low light), was Jeff. Jeff, lying on his side in bed, completely starkers, sheets barely brushing over his naked legs. Jeff, one hand wrapped under the pillow he laid on, the other wrapped firmly around his John Thomas.

Jeff, looking straight at me.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't exactly leave and pretend I hadn't seen anything, could I? I _had_ seen... well, quite a lot, actually. Half of me wanted to leave, to mumble an apology and just vanish. The other half couldn't move. _Wouldn't_ move, really. So, I stood there, mouth dry and face flushing. If I had a heartbeat, it probably would have stopped right there, on the spot.

Let me just tell you now, I don't like men... like that. Even if I did, it's barely legal to be one, you know – a homosexual. A chap could have gone to prison for it a couple of years ago, and a younger chap still would. It's not that _I_ think there's anything wrong with it; as far as I'm concerned a fellow should be allowed to live as he likes, as long as he's not hurting anyone. But it's not _me_. I'd never laid eyes on a man in that way until this evening, never even thought about it. But standing where I was, staring at Jeff, with his hair ruffled and face flushed, his hand motionless around himself except for the occasional squeeze – I thought I'd never seen anything so lovely in my life.

I think my mouth was open, slightly. I'm _sure_ it was, because I remember biting the edge of my tongue when I closed it.

I don't know how long we remained like that, staring at each other as though we'd just discovered the answer to a mystery that we never even knew existed. When Jeff moved, slowly sliding his left arm up from under the pillow, I nearly bolted. I didn't know if he was going to shout at me, chase me, hit me even (not that he'd have managed it, of course), but instead he just curled his arm underneath his head and shuffled back on the bed, away from the edge and into the middle. He didn't stop watching me, even as he moved a good foot and a half, leaving plenty of room for another body on the bed. An invitation.

I stepped forward, just a bit, not knowing if I'd misunderstood. When he took a breath and his right hand tightened around himself, I got the distinct feeling that I hadn't. Wordlessly, I stepped closer, feeling giddy and shaky and short of breath all at the same time, even though I surely didn't have the biological functions to do all that anymore (not having a real body, and all). Funny, isn't it? Jeff looked up at me as I sat lightly on the edge of the bed, his face a mixture of lust and something else I couldn't put my finger on – I'd like to say it was adoration, but such an expression isn't commonplace on Jeff's face. I swallowed, and so did he.

"Off," he whispered, his voice almost cracking. I could have cried when he said that – I thought I'd overstepped my boundaries, misunderstood his actions (and believe you me, you don't want to be misunderstanding actions in that situation, as I'm sure you can imagine). But as I moved to stand, he opened his mouth again, his eyes still on mine. "Clothes," he whispered, quieter than before as though it was a request, or a plea, even, rather than an instruction. "Off."

I didn't even know if I _could_ take my clothes off – I'd honestly not had any reason to try since my old brown suit had been replaced with my new, more permanent white number. Even on a purely pragmatic level, I wasn't sure if I could undo them, as nervous as I was. Still, I didn't hesitate in trying. My fingers trembled as I loosened and undid my tie, and when I'd slipped my jacket off and started undoing my shirt buttons, Jeff briefly lifted a hand as if to help, before dropping it back down. My chest was heaving with breaths as I took my shirt off – not bad for someone who doesn't need to breathe, I tell you. When I looked back at Jeff, he was breathing as heavily as I was, his skin flushed and trembling.

When I slipped my white shoes off and slid my trousers down, shuffling on the edge of the bed to do so, it became rather evident just how aroused I was – and between you and me, I don't think I'd ever been so aroused in my life. I'm not exactly new to this, you know (aside from the absence of a lady in this particular situation, of course) – I was married, after all. But whenever Jeannie and I made love, it was all rather casually arranged as a routine – dinner with a glass of wine or two, followed by some soft music before we'd head to our bedroom. Saturday evening was always a definite, other nights would depend on how tired we both were after work. Occasionally she'd surprise me during a long lunch-break, but even then, the lovemaking was all a means to an end, if you get my drift. Jeannie's very sweet in bed, don't get me wrong, and I loved her dearly, truly. But this, undressing in front of Jeff as he lay waiting, still holding himself, was intoxicating. I didn't know what was happening, what was going to happen, or what would come of the next morning or the day after, but in that moment, the future didn't exist. All I knew, all I could think or feel, was that I wanted and needed this, with Jeff, so desperately that my chest ached.

I finally pulled my feet out from the bottoms of my trousers and looked at Jeff openly, tentatively taking hold of myself and lightly squeezing before letting go. The reaction on his face was beautiful; there's no other word for it. Lifting my legs and shuffling around, I moved myself to lie beside him on the bed, stretching myself out alongside his body and grasping myself in earnest, this time. I wanted to touch him – really touch him – and as I moved to lean my forehead against where his was, I felt nothing. No solid touch of flesh against flesh.

"You're cold," Jeff whispered, looking into my eyes as he slowly stroked himself.

I suppose he was probably right, not that I could tell. "You can feel me?" I asked in a hushed voice.

He shook his head, sadly. "Not you. Just the cold."

I leaned back slightly, pulling away to look at his flushed face and body, beads of perspiration dotted across his temple. "I suppose you're probably rather warm by comparison."

"You can't feel it?"

I shook my head and tried to smile. "No," I said. "I'm a ghost, you see."

Jeff closed his eyes tightly – I almost thought he was going to cry, I really did, you know. He screwed his face up and lowered it, angling it towards my chest.

"Jeff," I whispered gently, "look at me. Look at me, Jeff." As he lifted his head to look into my eyes, I continued. "I want to touch you, I can't tell you how much. I want to touch you and feel you, and I –" I hesitated. "I want to taste you, Jeff." I moved to kiss his shoulder, my lips passing through the damp skin as though it wasn't there, proving my point.

He gasped, and his hand moved faster.

"But I can't Jeff, I can't." I sought his eyes again, his pupils dilating as he looked at me. "Don't look away," I murmured, desperately. "Let me watch you."

"God, Marty," he moaned. That did more to me than I can tell you, you know, that moan. He moved to rub his face against my own – I suppose that's what he was trying to do, anyway. Instead, his nose and lips just passed right through mine. A strange experience, but not altogether unpleasant. As he sped up his movements, I wanted to hold him, to stroke him, to wrap my arms around him and kiss his face all over – but all I could do was watch him as he rode out his climax, savour the image and commit it to my memory forever. My beautiful Jeff.

I followed him soon after that, with his eyes locked on mine and his hands ghosting over my skin, if you'll pardon the pun. I wish I could have felt them, his fingertips. I wish I could have crawled into his arms afterwards, rested my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. I could just about see it then, the pale amber light reflecting off his damp chest, shimmering slightly with each beat. As hard as I was breathing and as fast as it felt like my heart should have been beating, I don't suppose there was anything to see of mine – there was certainly nothing to feel. Nonetheless, his fingertips still hovered over my chest, near enough to almost touch, but far enough not to feel that there was nothing solid _to_ touch.

I watched Jeff as his breathing slowed and his eyelids began to droop (even as his hands still played over my chest), and began to realise what we'd just done. Even now, sound asleep, he hasn't moved except to rest his hand on the pillow by my face. It pains me to admit that my chest almost aches with regret – not over what we've done, but that we've left it until now. The thought of what we could have done if I were alive and we could touch each other... Well. I'm sure you'll appreciate that neither of us would be dozing off until well into the morning hours.

At the same time though, I can't see how we would have ended up doing this when I was alive. After all, I hardly made a habit of turning up in his room unannounced, especially as I'd have needed a key to get in. And even if something like this had happened, I can't see that it would have ended well – I wouldn't have been able to go home to Jeannie with a clear conscience, and Jeff and I wouldn't have been able to look each other in the face the next day. But like this, now, none of that seemed to matter.

Thinking about it, even if we had done this before, and it had worked out, I suppose it would have made things even harder when I popped my clogs. I know my death was hard on him anyway, I can't imagine how he would have taken things if we'd been... well, closer than we already were. But what I would give to touch him while I still –

"Marty?"

I look at Jeff in the low light, and see his eyes watching me, sleepily.

"You're not worrying, are you?"

I can't help but smile. He always said I was a worrier. I seem to recall he once said that it would be the death of me – jokingly, I'm sure. "No," I reassure him.

He lifts his hand up again to nearly brush against my cheek, before dropping it back to the pillow at the last minute. "I wish we'd done this before," he admits, quietly.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

Jeff smiles at me. "Must be a psychic link, or something."

_Yeah_ , I think to myself, snorting as I close my eyes. _It must be_.


End file.
